If You Try Hard and Believe in Yourself
by A Fire in the Attic
Summary: All it takes is a bit of time and determination to make Christmas perfect. Effie would know.


Lilyamongthorns asked for Christmas Hayffie, and I'm home sick, so I worked it up pretty quick. :)

I titled it this because i have a terrible sense of humor, but i'm not going to apologize for that.

Post-Mockingjay; Background Everlark.

**Word Count**: 2572

* * *

Effie Trinket has always maintained a perfectly coiffed appearance, thank you, and that's not subject to change just because she's been held captive and tortured for months during the District Rebellions.

That's what she's been calling them, see, but she's _certain_ someone will come up with a better name for it. Perhaps the Mockingjay War. Wouldn't that be _sensational_?

It's the first Christmas since the war has ended, and Effie Trinket is not going to let it slip by without a celebration.

So she knocks on President Paylor's door and waits. One of the benefits afforded to her capture and eventual release is a certain…immunity to red tape.

Paylor opens the door after a moment. "What can I do for you, Miss Trinket?"

"As you may know," Effie says, sniffing slightly. "It's November 1, and I've only 55 days to make a Christmas for all of Panem to celebrate. I was wondering if you could provide me a committee."

"Christmas," Paylor says flatly.

"The most important holiday of the year," Effie says primly. "Though of course we'll set up some Hannukah and Kwanzaa celebrations for those who would prefer to celebrate them. Oh, just imagine the unity across Panem—the coming together to cut the Yule log, the gift giving, the jolly spirit…"

Paylor sighs and walks around her desk to write some notes down. "Your budget will be far smaller than you're used to."

"I've never had a budget before, so no worries," Effie says, waving a hand. "No one was ever keen to attend a party held by the escort of District 12. Not very glamorous, you see."

"What makes you think this will be any different?" Paylor wonders as she continues writing.

"Well, I've got the Mockingjay now, don't I?" she replies, and snaps the paper out from under Paylor's hands. "Yes, this budget will more than suffice. I'll put the committee together and have the names to you by the end of this week. Ta!" She hands her the paper back, and leaves the office.

Effie Trinket always gets what she wants.

Eventually.

* * *

The committee is easy enough to assemble. She calls old friends from the Capital, prep teams who, like her, got the short end of the stick during the war, and even a few victors from District 4. Cecelia in particular was excited to join up. After her games, her hobby had been flower arranging, and has since expanded to interior design in general.

The planning commences.

"What would you think of a Victory Tour sort of set up?" Effie asks. "We stop in each district and have a feast!"

"We could call it the Twelve Days of Christmas!" Octavia gasps, clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes.

"Will we have enough money?"

"I think so. We won't be able to pull out _all_ the stops, but everyone will be fed!"

"No throw up juice," Cecelia suggests. "Let everyone eat once, and you should be fine."

"A fine idea," Effie cuts in when she sees a few of her Capital colleagues beginning to protest. "Cecelia is right. Anyway, it's a waste. We'll just have to be more careful when we pick out what to eat!"

There's still a fair amount of grumbling, but they all settle and start tossing ideas out again.

"Mistletoe _everywhere!_"

"Christmas trees!"

"What about a Christmas Roast?"

Effie settles and smiles. Yes. She always get what she wants.

* * *

The only problem with the theme "The Twelve Days of Christmas," of course, is that they'll need to throw more than 12 parties. Unless they somehow convince the people of District 12 to meet them in District 11, of course, but that simply won't happen. Right now, the people in District 12 are the stubborn ones—Katniss and Haymitch, and recently, Peeta. Then of course the black market dealers.

Effie isn't terribly concerned. The idea is still there.

"This is the first day of Christmas," she announces in District 1. "And we are _ever_ so grateful to have this time to share with you."

As she expected, things go off without a hitch.

Eleven more days, she thinks on the train ride to District 2. And then stops. Eleven more days until _what_? The paltry party they'll have in District 12, she supposes. She's never held any love for that place. Her affections had been bestowed strictly upon Katniss and Peeta, and _sometimes_ Haymitch. Perhaps she's excited to see them again.

Perhaps she's going to punch Haymitch _right_ in the face. After all, it's _his_ fault she was captured and tortured. Honestly, he could have _told _her. She was just as upset about the Quell. She would have _much_ preferred to be on the side of the rebellion and actually be with them, rather than just suffering for them.

Yes, that's what she's excited about. Eleven days until she gets to forcefully scold Haymitch.

* * *

Of course, it doesn't turn out that way.

When they arrive in District 12 to set up on the 12th day, Peeta is the only one there to greet them. He looks pained and awkward, but he steps forward to embrace her all the same. "It's good to see you," he says, voice scratchy with disuse. "I'll show you where we'd like to set up."

The District is small now—there's only about thirty people living here, and so Peeta has graciously offered to host the party in his Victor house.

The prep teams get to work immediately on decking the halls of his home while the others carry in food.

"How many more days will you be traveling?" Peeta asks, standing next to Effie while she oversees everything.

"Oh, just two more! Well, tomorrow we'll go to District 13, and then it's back home for the Capital party—which of course, will be no more lavish than this; only on a slightly bigger scale, you see—we budgeted very carefully—but, darling, you know this is the party I've been looking forward to the most! I've missed you quite a bit. Tell me, how is everything with you?"

"It's, uh, getting better," he says, shifting his weight more heavily to his good leg. "The flashes are getting better. I went out into the woods to find some primrose bushes for Katniss. She likes them a lot, I think."

"I'm sure she does." She pats his shoulder comfortingly, but hesitates before saying, "I was ever so…upset to discover what happened to young Prim. I wish I could have been more help."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Peeta says. "You were out of commission."

"Yes, there is that," she says, but she feels herself drifting a little, remembering the months of hunger and pain. She dry swallows. "Where is Katniss, anyway?"

"She's out in the woods," he replies. "She's getting better, too."

"Wonderful," Effie says, and then shouts to Flavius. "Do be careful with that bough of holly, dear!"

* * *

Haymitch shows up about five minutes before the dinner, Katniss in tow. People have been arriving for the last thirty minutes, and Effie suspects this is the fullest Peeta's house has ever been.

Katniss immediately hugs Effie, tucking her face into her neck like a small child. But she lets go after a minute and shyly waves at Peeta before taking a seat next to the woman called Greasy Sae.

"Well, hello, Beautiful," Haymitch says, winking broadly at Effie.

She frowns at him. "Oh, Haymitch. It hasn't been long enough."

He touches his heart. "That's touching, really. How is it, being the Capital's most eligible and beautiful bachelorette?"

"You saw that?" she says, blinking in surprise. It's derailing to know he tuned into the 15 minute special on her and her Christmas parties. It sounds like he's being complimentary, in his backhanded, Haymitch-y way.

"Not much else to do," he says sardonically.

She rolls her eyes. "Do sit down and stop bothering me," she sighs.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take care of the 'eligible' part? I imagine a relationship between the two of us would just _titillate_ your fans."

"It's more likely they'd feel sorry for me," she says, pursing her lips.

"Hmmph," he says, and walks away, shaking his head.

"They would have excellent reason to feel sorry for me!" she calls after him, hands turning to fists on her hips.

* * *

After the feast, Peeta turns on some soft music and the party breaks into groups.

Katniss comes to sit by Effie for a while and softly thanks her for the party. "It's nice to have this without…everything else," she says. Her voice is no longer bold or angry; it's only tired now.

Effie can relate. But unlike Katniss, she can't force people to leave her in solitude. And she wouldn't even want to. She loves being out in society again, unfettered and eating well. "Well, dear, you know I only have your best interests at heart. I made sure to bring that lamb stew you're so fond of."

"And the hot chocolate," Katniss says, smiling a little. "Thank you, Effie."

"Of _course,_ dear. Now, how are you and young Peeta?"

"We're—we're friends now," Katniss says slowly.

"I see," Effie says.

"Really, that's all."

"That's perfectly all right, darling."

"But maybe…one day," Katniss sounds a little wistful now, as she looks across the room at Peeta.

"Well, you're young, you know," Effie says. "You have plenty of time."

"So do you," she replies, but she's distracted, and stands up to drift toward the leftovers on the table.

Effie can't help but chuckle at that. Katniss could always put a meal away. Once, she'd eaten as much as her whole prep team _without_ using the throw up juice. It's truly impressive, if unladylike.

Well, Katniss has never been concerned with adhering to Capital standards of propriety, so it's not exactly surprising.

"This seat taken?" Haymitch doesn't wait for an answer before falling into the chair. "You look lovely."

She looks away from him on purpose. "You mentioned that before."

"Did I? Well, it bears repeating. It's not often you choose colors that suit you so well."

She huffs. "You just can't be polite, can you, Haymitch? I don't know why I even bother."

He seems startled by the outburst. "I—"

"Because, clearly, I'm not that important to you. After all, you left me to take the fall for something I knew nothing about, and then rescued Peeta and not me. What had I even done? I only tried to help them with the speech cards on the victory tour, and the gold jewelry so we could be a team. But you never thought of me as a teammate, did you? I only tried to help and I only got tortured for it," she rants. "And you—You. I cannot handle this." Abruptly, she stands and pushes through the crowd to go outside. She doesn't particularly care if anyone overheard her rant. It's not like they don't _know_ what had happened. It just isn't talked about in polite company.

Haymitch, of course, is not polite company.

Outside, the snow has fallen deep enough that someone has made a snowman in Peeta's yard. Effie wanders over to it, smiling despite her foul mood. There's something magical about a white Christmas, and the joy of children manifesting in stacks of snow balls and snow angels on the ground.

She licks her lips and shivers. She might be a bit embarrassed at her poor manners, but she doesn't regret scolding Haymitch. It's more embarrassing that she has feelings for him, honestly—

Feelings of resentment, of course.

And maybe attraction?

No, that would be ridiculous and wholly unfounded. Haymitch has always been so snappy and never given any indication that he thinks of her as anything but a nuisance. She thinks of him as more of a wasp than a potential romantic partner even if he _does_ always say she's beautiful.

Behind her, the door opens and shuts.

"You should have grabbed a coat."

Oh, _wonderful_. It's Haymitch, who has clearly never learned to leave well enough alone.

"Are you quite finished with your lecture?" she asks without looking back at him.

Instead of answering, he settles a coat around her shoulders. It's the one she brought from home—red and warm, lined with some fake fur. She slips her arms into the sleeves. "Thank you," she says, because she has to have _manners_.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I don't like to say that, so you'll never hear it again, but I am. Sorry."

"For what?" she wonders.

"Not telling you our plans. Leaving you behind to be taken. Not rescuing you when we picked up Peeta and Johanna."

"Being rude?"

"Well, that's kind of who I am," he hedges.

She laughs a little. "It's—I do understand why you didn't tell me. But I wish you had trusted me…I know I'm not—I didn't have the abilities you needed. So not rescuing me…I. I get it."

He shakes his head. "There's no excuses." He pulls a small box out of his pocket. "I got you this."

"Really?" she asks. She realizes she's crying a little, and wipes the tears from her cheeks before taking the box. "I didn't get you anything."

"You got me a feast," he says. "And the alcohol from the Capital is still much better than the white liquor they serve here."

"So easy to please," she sniffs, and opens the box carefully. Inside, there's an ornament she could hang on her own Christmas tree. It's modeled after Katniss' Mockingjay pin and it's _beautiful_.

It's also one of the decorations she had brought with her from the Capital.

She levels a glare at him. "This isn't a gift."

"It reminded me of you," he says defensively, but he's chuckling. "Nothing like your hair, of course, but I didn't have anything like that on hand."

"Why do I bother?" she sighs, and pushes the ornament into his chest. "Do put it back where it came from."

"If that's what you want," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"It is," she says, frowning at him. "Have you any manners _at all_?"

"Not really," he says.

She expects him to go back inside, but instead he steps closer to her, so there's mere inches between them, and curls a hand around the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice going high. "I don't—"

"Shh," he says, and kisses her.

He tastes like alcohol, unsurprisingly, but his lips are surprisingly soft and he's pretty okay at kissing, considering he probably hasn't done it in 25 years.

A little helplessly, she yields to him and kisses him back.

His games are the earliest she can remember from her childhood. She'd been eight at the time, had decided that she was in love with him and wanted him to win.

Her mother had encouraged her to look at the boys from District 2 that year. "Look how handsome they are," she remembers her mother saying. "And how strong."

But little Effie Trinket had shaken her head. "He'll win. And one day we'll get married."

As she rocks forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders and licks and nips at his lips, she feels vaguely proud of herself. Even as an eight-year-old, she knew.

Effie Trinket _always_ gets what she wants.

It just takes a bit of time and determination.


End file.
